THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 
OF  CALIFORNIA 

LOS  ANGELES 

GIFT  OF 
WILLIAM  P.  WREDM 


IRS,  FflllETS  TWIL15HT  STORIES, 

i.  — TRUE  STORIES  ABOUT  DOGS  AND  CATS. 

2. -MADE-UP  STORIES. 

s.  — THE  PEDLER  OF  DUST  STICKS.. 

4. -THE  OLD  GARRET.    PART  I. 

5. -THE  OLD  GARRET.    PART  II. 

6. -THE  OLD  GARRET.    PART  III. 

7.  -  TRAVELLERS'  STORIES. 

8. -WHAT  THE  ANIMALS  DO  AND  SAY. 

9-  -  MAY  MORNING  AND  NEW  YEAR'S  EVE. 
10.  -  CONSCIENCE. 
11.—  PICCOLISSIMA. 
12.  — LITTLE  SONGS. 


* 


BY  MRS.  FOLLEN. 


v 

BOSTON : 
LEE    AND    SHEPAKD,   PUBLISHERS. 

NE^W    YORK: 

LEE,  SHEPARD  AND  DILLINGHAM. 

1873. 


Entered,  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1857,  by 

WHTTTEMORE,  NILES,  AJTO  HALL, 
In  the  Clerk's  Office  of  the  District  Court  of  the  Distric'-  of  Massachusetts. 


CONSCIENCE. 


THE  short  wintry  days  were  beginning  to 
lengthen,  the  sun  rose  earlier  and  staid  up 
longer.  Now  and  then  a  bluebird  was  heard 
twittering  a  welcome  to  the  coming  spring. 

(5) 

682967 


v 


6  CONSCIENCE. 

As  for  the  "robins,  they  were  as  pert  and  busy 
as  usual.  The  little  streams  were  beginning 
to  find  their  way  out  of  their  icy  prison  slowly 
and  with  trembling,  as  if  they  feared  old  win- 
ter might  take  a  step  and  catch  them,  and 
pinch  them  all  up  again. 

Frank  and  Harry  were  sorry  to  see  their 
snow  man  growing  smaller  and  smaller  every 
day ;  from  being  a  large,  portly  gentleman,  he 
was  shrunk  into  a  thin,  shabby,  ugly-looking 
fellow.  His  strong  arms  were  about  falling  to. 
the  ground;  his  fat  nose  had  entirely  disap- 
peared, and  his  mouth  had  grown  so  big  that 
you  might  look  down  his  great  throat,  and  see 
the  place  where  one  of  the  boys  used  to  go  in 
to  make  his  snowship  talk.  Frank  and  Harry 
loved  all  their  winter  amusements,  and  were 
loath  to  give  up  skating,  sliding,  and  coasting, 


CONSCIENCE.  7 

and  above  all,  snowballing.  Yet  the  boys 
enjoyed  the  lengthening  twilight  — r  the  hour 
their  mother  devoted  to  them. 

"Will  you  please  to  give  me  two  cents. 
Mother  ?  "  said  Frank,  one  day. 

"For  what?" 

"  To  buy  a  piece  of  chalk." 

u  And  two  for  me,  Mother,"  said  Harry,  "  for 
I  want  a  piece  as  well  as  Frank." 

"  What  are  you  both  going  to  do  with  chalk  ?  " 
asked  their  mother.  They  were  silent.  She 
asked  again,  but  they  made  no  reply.  "I  can- 
not give  you  the  money  till  you  tell  me  what 
you  want  of  the  chalk.  Why  are  you  not  will- 
ing that  I  should  know  ?  " 

The  boys  continued  silent  for  a  short  time, 
and  then  Frank  said,  "  I  am  afraid  that,  if  you 
know  what  we  are  going  to  do  with  the  chalk, 
you  will  not  let  us  have  the  money." 


8  CONSCIENCE. 

"Then/'  replied  their  mother,  "you  think 
what  you  want  to  do  is  wrong.  I,  perhaps,- 
ought  to  insist  upon  your  telling  me  what  you 
want  of  the  chalk.  I  love  to  give  you  every 
innocent  pleasure,  and  what  is  right  for  you 
to  do  I  think  I  may  know  about.  However,  if 
you  will  assure  me  it  is  for 'nothing  wrong  that 
you  want  the  chalk,  I  will  ask  no  more  ques- 
tions, and  give  you  the  money." 

"  We  do  not  mean  to  do  any  great  harm 
with  it,"  said  Harry.  "  Still  I  am  afraid  you 
will  not  quite  like  to  have  us  do  it,  mothers 
are  so  much  more  particular  than  boys,  you 
know." 

"  Try  and  see  if  we  disagree  about  this  mat- 
ter," said  their  mother. 

"Shall  I  tell ?"  said  Harry  to  Frank. 

"  Yesj"  he  replied.     "  It  is  no  such  dreadful 


CONSCIENCE.  U 

affair.  Let's  tell  mother  all  about  it.  You 
know,  she  said  the  other  day  that  she  remem- 
bered when  she  Was  a  boy." 

They  all  laughed  at  this  often  quoted  blun- 
der, and  Harry  began :  "  You  see,  Mother,  that 
yesterday  John  Green  contrived,  while  we  were 
in  school,  and  engaged  in  doing  our  lessons, 
to  make  a  great  B  on  Frank's  and  my  back, 
with  a  piece  of  chalk.  John  is  a  good  hand  at 
such  things,  and  he  did  it  so  nicely  that  the 
master  did  not  see  him,  and  neither  of  us  saw 
the  B  on  the  other.  When  we  went  out  to  play, 
all  the  boys  cried  out,  "  B  for  blockhead,  B  for 
blunderbuss,  B  for  booby,"  and  so  on,  ever  so 
many  other  names  beginning  with  B,  and  kept 
pointing  at  us.  At  last,  I  saw  Frank's  mark; 
and  he  saw  mine.  I  can  tell  you  we  were  both 
angry  enough.  Now  we  want  to  be  revenged 


10  CONSCIENCE. 

on  John  Green,  and  have  a  capital  plan.  You 
see  he  will  be  on  his  guard,  and  we  must  be 
very  cunning.  To-morrow  is  exhibition  day, 
and  he  will  have  on  his  best  dark-green  jacket, 
and  Frank  and  I  are  to  sit  one  on  each  side  of 
him.  You  see  he  is  really  a  dunce  about  ever}^ 
thing  but  playing  tricks ;  and,  when  he  is  asked 
a  question,  he  will  be  scared  out  of  his  senses, 
and  not  know  what  to  say.  Now  Frank  is 
going  to  pretend  to  help  him,  while  I  write 
Dunce  in  large  letters  on  the  stupid  fellow's 
back.  John  will  not  know  what  I  am  doing, 
I  am  sure;  and,  as  he  is  a  real  dunce,  it  will 
make  a  good,  laugh";  every  one  will  think  he 
is  well  served,  and  the  whole  school  will  make 
fun  of  him." 

"So,"  said  Mrs.  Chilton,  "you  acknowledge 
that  you  are  planning  a  piece  of  revenge." 


CONSCIENCE.  11 

«  Why,  yes,  Mother,"  replied  Frank ;  tt  I  sup- 
pose you  would  think  it  ought  to  be  called 
revenge,  but  I  don't  see  any  great  harm  in  it. 
Schoolboys  always  play  such  tricks,  and  no  boy 
thinks  the  worse  of  another  for  such  a  thing." 

"You  think,"  said  Mrs.  Chilton,  "that  this 
schoolmate  of  yours  will  be  so  embarrassed  at 
answering  the  questions  that  he  will  not  know 
what  he  is  about ;  you  mean,  one  of  you,  to- 
pretend  to  be  his  friend  and  help  him,  while 
the  other  makes  him  appear  like  a  fool  to  the 
rest  of  the  boys." 

Frank  and  Harry  looked  a  little  troubled, 
and  were  silent  a  while.  Then  Frank  said,, "  It 
is  no  more  than  what  John  would  do;  'tis  what 
he  deserves,  and  it  is  true  enough  that  he  is  a 
dunce." 

"  I  will  tell  you,  Frank,  a  better  way  of  be- 
ing revenged,"  replied  his  mother. 


12  CONSCIENCE. 

"What  is  it,  Mother?" 

u  Sit  by  him,  as  .you  intended,  and  when  he 
is  troubled  and  perplexed,  help  him  as  well  as 
you  can,  and  be  particularly  kind  to  him." 

"  And  so  reward  him  for  making  fools  of  us," 
said  Frank,  pettishly.  "  No,  Mother,  what  you 
say  may  be  very  good,  but  I  don't  want  to  do 
such  a  thing  as  that." 

"If  you  were  to  treat  him  in  the  way  I 
propose,  do  you  think  he  would  ever  treat  you 
unkindly  again?  Would  he  not  feel  deeply 
ashamed  of  his  conduct  if  you  thus  returned 
him  good  for  evil  ?  " 

The  boys  were  silent,  but  it  was  evident 
that  they  did  not  quite  relish  their  mother's 
advice,  nor  feel  at  all  disposed  to  help  John 
Green  say  his  lessons. 

"  I  will  tell  you  "a  story,"  said  Mrs.  Chilton, 


CONSCIENCE.  13 

"  of  a  man  who  overcame  evil  with  good.  A 
gentleman  was  once  travelling  alone  in  a  gig 
through  a  very  unfrequented  road.  There 
was  no  house,  no  sign  of  human  existence 
there.  It  was  so  still  that  the  hills  and 
rocks  and  deep  woods  gave  back  the  echo  of 
his  horse's  hoofs ;  the  song  of  a  bird  or  the 
chirping  of  a  cricket  seemed  to  fill  a  great 
space,  and  fell  on  the  ear  with  a  strange  and 
almost  startling  effect.  He  was  observing  or 
rather  feeling  this  extreme  solitude  and  stillness, 
when  suddenly  at  a  turn  in  the  road  he  came  - 
upon  a  man  who  placed  himself  directly  before 
the  horse's  head.  The  man  had  a  dark,  bad  ex- 
pression in  his  face,  and  fixed  his  eye  upon  the 
traveller  in  such  a 'way  as  to  convince  him  that 
the  man  meant  to  stop  and  rob  him. 

The   gentleman   immediately  drew   up   his 


14  CONSCIENCE. 

reins,  and  said  kindly,  "  Friend,  "if  you  are 
going  my  way,  step  into  my  gig,  and  let  me 
take  you  on." 

The  man  hesitated,  and  then  got  in.  My 
friend,  who  was  a  clergyman,  began  immedi- 
ately to  talk  earnestly  about  many  interesting 
things,  and  kept  up  a  lively  conversation.  At 
last,  he  mentioned  the  uncommon  loneliness 
of  the  road,  and  observed  that  it  would  be  a 
good  place  for  a  robbery.  He  then  went  on  to 
speak  of  robbers,  and  then  of  criminals  in  gen- 
eral, and  of  what  he  thought  was  the  right 
way  to  treat  them.  He  said  that  society 
should  try  to  instruct  and  reform  them ;  that 
putting  them  to  death  was  wicked ;  that,  by 
patient  love  and  kindness,  we  should  win  them 
'back  to  virtue,  that  we  should  show  them  the 
way  to  peace  and  honor.  He  expressed  his 


CONSCIENCE.  15 

belief,  that  'there  was  something  good  in  the 
heart  of  the  very  worst  man,  and  said  that  he 
believed  God  had  placed  a  witness  of  Himself  in 
every  human  heart.  "  I  am  a  non-resistant "  — 
concluded  the  clergyman,  "  and  I  would  rather 
die  than  take  the  life  of  my  bitterest  enemy." 
The  man  listened  very  attentively.  When 
xthey  came  to  the  next  road,  he  asked  to  'be 
*  allowed  to  get  out,  as  he  said  his  home  lay 
that  way.  After  bidding  farewell,  he  added, 
"  I  thank  you  for  taking  me  in,  and  for  all  you 
have  said  to  me.  I  shall  never  forget  it.  You 
have  saved  me  from  a  crime.  When  I  met  you, 
I  meant  to  rob  you.  I  could  easily  have  done 
so ;  but  your  kind  words  put  better  thoughts 
into  my  heart.  I  think  I  shall  never  have  such 
an  evil  purpose  again.  I  thank  God  I  met  you. 
You  have  made  me  a  better  man." 


16  CONSCIENCE. 

"Now,"  said  Mrs.  Chilton,  "I  will  give  you, 
boys,  the  money  you  ask  for,  and  leave  you  to 
do  as  you  think  best  about  John  Green." 

"  But,  Mother,"  said  Harry,  "I  am  sure  chalk- 
ing a  boy's  back  is  a  very  different  thing  from 
robbing  a  man;  and  chalking  back  again  is 
not  like  keeping  a  poor  fellow  in  prison  all  his 
life,  or  hanging  him." 

"  Very  true,  Harry,  but  the  principle  of 
overcoming  evil  with  good  is  the  same  for  both 
cases.  The  evil  purpose  in  the  robber's  heart 
was  overcome  by  the  love  and  kindness  of  the 
man  he  meant  to  injure.  Think  the  whole 
matter  over,  boys,  and  let  me  know  to-morrow 
what  you  have  done.  I  leave  you  free  to  do 
as  you  think  best." 

The  next  day  after  school,  she  asked  them 
what  they  had  done  about  John  •  Green,  and 


CONSCIENCE.  17 

whether  they  had  spent  their  money  for  chalk 
to  write  dunce  on  his  back. 

"I  bought  a  piece  of  chalk,"  said  Frank, 
"for  I  thought  I  might  want  very  much  to 
pay  him  back  for  his  trick  upon  us,  but  the 
poor  fellow  looked  so  frightened  that  I  did  no.t 
want  to  touch  him." 

"I  did  not  buy  any  chalk,"  said  Harry, 
"  for  I  felt  almost  sure  that,  if  I  had  a  piece  in 
my  pocket,  I  should  leave  some  mark  on  his 
back." 

"Did  you  then  do  nothing  to  revenge  your- 
selves ?  "  asked  their  mother. 

"Frank  had  such  a  revenge  as  you  would 
approve  of,"  said  Harry. 

"  One  of  the  examiners  asked  John  where 
Athens  was.  The  poor  fellow  could  not  tell, 
for  he  is  a  real  dunce,  though  we  did  not  chalk 
2 


: 


18  CONSCIENCE. 

the  word  on  his  back.  Well,  he  was  just  going 
to  say  that  he  did  not  know,  when  Frank 
whispered  the  answer  very  softly  into  his  ear, 
and  saved  him  from  Being  disgraced.  I  did 
want,  just  then,  to  write,  dunce  on  John's  back ; 
but,  on  the  whole,  I  pitied  him,  and,  when  I  heard 
him,  after  the  examination,  thank  Frank,  and 
say,  "  I  am  sorry  for  what  I  did  the  other  day," 
I  did  feel  that  it  was  better  to  overcome  evil 
with  good,  though  it  comes  hard,  Mother, 
sometimes." 

"  Very  true,"  said  Mrs.  Chilton ;  "  to  do  right 
is  not  always  easy.  At  first,  it  is  perhaps 
always  hard,  but  it  grows  easier  and  easier,  the 
more  we  try ;  till,  at  last,  that  which  was  pain- 
ful becomes  pleasant.  Some  good  person,  I 
forget  who,  said,  "  Whenever  I  want  to  get  over 
a  dislike  of  any  person,  I  always  try  to  find  an 


CONSCIENCE.  19 

opportunity  to  do  him  a  service."  Tell  me, 
Frank,  if  you  do  not  feel  more  kindly  towards 
John  Green,  since  you  did  him  that  kind- 
ness." 

"  I  suppose  J  do/'  said  Frank.  *  My  anger  is 
gone,  at  any  rate." 

"  We  don't  want  candles  yet,  do  we,  Mother," 
said  Harry.  "  There  is  the  moon  just  over 
the  old  pine  tree,  and  there  is  a  bright  little 
star  waiting  upon  her.  Now  is  our  story 
time.  Can  you  not  make  up  something  to 
tell  us?" 

"I  cannot  think  of  any  thing,"  said  Mrs. 
Chilton.  "  I  believe  I  spun  all  the  cobwebs 
out  of  my  brain  when  I  told  you  about  the 
old  garret." 

"Did  you  not  say  to  us,  the  other  day, 
Mother,"  said  Frank,  "  that,  when  you  were  at 


20  CONSCIENCE. 

uncle  John's  many  years  ago,  before  we  were 
born,  you  wrote  down  some  stories  ?  I  think 
you  told  aunt  Susan  that  you  meant,  when  we 
were  old  enough,  to  read  them  to  us." 

"  I  did,  Frank,  and  when  the  light  comes,  I 
will  read  some  of  them.  Meantime,  I  will  tell 
you  one  or  two  little  anecdotes.  I  was  dining 
yesterday  with  a  gentleman  who  told  me  this 
story.  He  was  returning  from  England  to 
Boston  in  one  of  the  fine  royal  steamers. 
When  not  very  far  from  the  end  of  the  voyage, 
he  and  some  other  gentlemen  determined  to 
indulge  themselves  with  the  pleasure  of  giving 
a  dinner  as  good  as  they  had  every  day  to  the 
sailors.  I  suppose  you  know  that  in  these 
steamers  the  passengers  pay  a  large  price  for 
the  passage,  and  are  feasted  every  day  with 
luxuries.  The  gentleman  asked  the  captain's 


CONSCIENCE. 


21 


leave  to  give  this  dinner,  and  wished  him  to 
order  it ;  but  the  captain  replied,  "  I  will  have 
nothing  to  do  with  such  nonsense.  I  will  give 
the  steward  orders  to  do  whatever  you  bid 


22  CONSCIENCE. 

him;  and  I  don't  care  what  yau  do,  only  I 
must  not  appear  in  it."  Accordingly,  the  gen* 
tleinan  gave  the  steward  orders  to  provide  the 
very  best  dinner  that  the  ship  could  afford, 
telling  him  to  prepare  four  courses,  and  adding 
that  if  the  dinner  was  in  any  respect  inferior 
to  what  the  cabin  passengers  had  it  would  not 
be  paid  for.  The  steward  was  desired  to  keep 
it  a  profound  secret  who  ordered  the  dinner, 
and  not  to  say  any  thing  about  it  beforehand. 
When  the  day  came,  the  sailors  were  as- 
tonished that  they  did  not  have  their  dinner 
at  the  usual  hour.  Presently  all  hands  were 
called  on  deck.  This  was  such  an  unusual 
thing  when  all  was  quiet  in  the  ship,  that  they 
were  still  more  puzzled.  The  gentlemen  meant 
to  have  them  dine  in  the  cabin ;  but  the  cap- 
tain advised  against  this  on  the  ground  that 


CONSCIENCE.  23 

sailors  would  feel  confined  in  the  cabin,  and 
would  not  enjoy  themselves.  Sa  the  dinner 
was  served  on  deck.  When  the  sailors  were 
assembled,  and  were  ordered  to  take  their 
places  at  the  dinner  before  them,  they  obeyed, 
looking  greatly  astonished.  They  were  first 
helped  to  soup  — -  then  to  meats  of  all  sorts  — 
then  puddings,  pies,  &c.  —  then  nuts,  oranges, 
raisins,  figs,  and  wine.  At  first,  they  stared,  as 
if  they  were  in  the  land  of  dreams ;  but  pres- 
ently the  enchanting  realities  before  them  were 
welcomed  and  consumed  with  the  greatest 
relish.  They  were  waited  upon  in  the  most 
respectful  manner.  Their  feast  had  no  draw- 
back. All  was  good  and  agreeable  as  possible. 
The  gentleman  said  he  had  been  at  many 
grand  dinners,  but  had  never  enjoyed  one  so 
much  as  this. 


24  CONSCIENCE. 

The  sailors  tried  to  find  out  their  benefactor, 
but  no  one  would  tell  them. 

At  last  their  suspicions  fell  upon  the  right 
man,  him  who  told  me  the  story. 

They  chose  the  oldest  of  their  number  to 
wait  upon  him  in  the  name  of  the  whole,  to 
express  their  thanks.  u  When  the  old  man  ap- 
proached me/'  said  the  gentleman  to  me,  ;<  he 
took  off  his  hat  and  was  going  to  speak,  but 
the  tears  came  in  his  eyes,  and  he  could  not. 
He  went  away,  and  presently  returned ;  but 
again  he  lost  his  self-command,  and  turned 
away.  At  last,  he  recovered  himself  enough 
to  speak,  and  these  were  his  words:  "'Tis 
the  first  time,  sir,  that  we  were  ever  treated 
like  men." 

The  captain,  who  laughed  at  the  whim 
of  these  gentlemen,  said  afterwards  that  he 


CONSCIENCE.  25 

had  never  had  such  work  from  his  sailors  as 
he  had  from  that  time  to  the  end  of  the 
voyage. 

I  will  tell  you  yet  another  true  story. 

There  was  a  poor  girl  who  was  ill  of  a  con- 
sumption. She  did  not  suffer  much,  yet  was 
pretty  certain  that  she  should  never  get  well. 
She  was  very  happy,  however,  for  she  had  many 
beautiful  thoughts  .  to  keep  her  company  in 
the  sick  room. 

One  day  a  good  man  came  to  visit  her, 
and  told  her  of  a  school  in  Canada,  to  teach 
colored  people  who  had  been  slaves,  and  had 
run  away  from  their  masters.  You  know  that 
in  Canada  American  slaves  become  free  Eng- 
lish subjects. 

He  told  her  that  he  was  trying  to  get  money 
to  pay  teachers  in  this  school. 


26  CONSCIENCE. 

The  poor  girl  was  very  much  interested, 
wished  much  to  contribute  something,  and  felt 
grieved  at  her  poverty.  Presently  her  face 
lighted  up  with  a  sad  smile.  "I  have,"  said 
she,  "one  thing  of  value  which  I  could  give 
you,  but,"  (and  she  looked  very  sad,)  "  it  would 
be  hard  parting  with  it.  My  mother  gave  it 
to  me."  She  went  to  a  drawer,  and  took  out 
of  it  a  gold  necklace.  Then,  as  if  she  were 
talking  to  herself,  she  said,  "  How  sweetly  my 
mother  smiled  upon  me  when  she  put  this 
around  my  neck !  I  cannot  wear  it  now,  my 
neck  is  so  thin,  and  is  always  covered  up.  She 
would  wish  me  to  give  it  for  this  purpose,  I 
know.  Yes,  she  would  like  I  should  do  it. 
But  then  I  cannot  bear  to  give  it  away.  It 
was  hers ;  she  wore  it  herself.  I  shall  not  keep 
it  a  great  while  longer,  at  any  rate.  I  can 


CONSCIENCE.  27 

desire  my  uncle  to  give  it  to  the  school  when 
I  am  gone."  She  covered  her  face  with  her 
hands,  but  you  could  see  her  tears  through 
her  thin,  emaciated  fingers. 

Her  friend,  who  had  told  her  about  the 
school,  simply  to  please  and  interest  her,  begged 
her  not  to  think  any  more  of  giving  away  the 
necklace,  and  spoke  to  her  of  something  else. 

"  No,"  said  she,  "  I  cannot  keep  it,  now  that 
it  has  come  into  my  mind  that  I  ought  to  give 
it  to  you  for  the  school.  You  must  take  it. 
Forgive  my  weakness ;  the  thought  of  my  dear 
departed  mother  brings  the  tears  to  my  eyes." 

"  Think  again,  then,  before  you  give  away 
this  precious  necklace,"  said  the  good  man. 

She  put  the  necklace  into  his  hand,  and 
said,  as  she  did  so,  "  I  have  thought  of  it  again, 
and  I  have  decided  to  give  it." 


28  CONSCIENCE. 


He  took  it,  and  left  the  generous-hearted 
girl,  praying  that  she  might  recover,  but  fear- 
ing that  he  should  never  see  her  again. 

Not  long  after  this,  in  a  steamboat,  he  met  a 
gentleman  with  whom  he  had  much  conversa- 
tion upon  various  subjects ;  among  others  the 
institution  for  the  instruction  of  the  poor  run- 
aways. He  mentioned  among  other  things 
this  poor  girl's  gift,  and  her  grief  at  parting 
with  her  mother's  gold  necklace.  "I  hated," 
said  he,  "to  take  it.  She  will  not  stay  here 
long,  and  her  pleasures  are  very  few."  He 
mentioned  also  the  name  of  the  town  in  New 
Hampshire  where  she  lived. 

"  That  is  my  native  place,"  said  the  gentle- 
man to  whom  he  was  relating  the  story.  "  Will 
you  let  me  see  the  necklace  ?  " 

"Certainly,"  said  the  missionary,  and  .he 
took  it  from  his  pocket.^ 


CONSCIENCE.  29 

"What  sum  of  money  shall  you  obtain  for 
this  necklace?" 

"I  have  had  it  weighed/'  said  he,  "and  I 
shall  get  so  much  money  for  it,"  naming  the 
sum. 

"Are  you  willing  to  sell  it  to  me  for  that 
sum?" 

u  Certainly  ;  that  is  all  I  can  obtain  for  it." 

The  bargain  was  concluded.  The  stranger 
paid  the  sum.  Then,  putting  the  necklace 
into  his  own  pocket,  he  said,  "  She  shall  have  it 
for  a  new  year's  gift." 

Now  let  us,  on  the  first  of  January,  visit  the 
poor  sick  girl  again.  Early  in  the  morning, 
some  one  hands  her  a  little  parcel  —  she  opens 
it,  and  there  is  her  precious  necklace,  the  gift 
of  her  dear  mother  in  the  heavenly  land.  It 
is  accompanied  by  a  short  note  in  which  the 


•  30  CONSCIENCE. 

writer  begs  her  not  to  part  with  the  neck- 
lace again  while  she  lives,  but  to  consider  it 
her  own  to  do  as  she  pleases  with  it  at  her 
death. 

The  stranger,  who  had  purchased  the  neck- 
lace, and  sent  it  back  to  the  poor  girl,  knew 
the  true  value  of  riches,  and  understood  and 
enjoyed  the  luxury  of  doing  good,  of  making 
the  poor  and  the  sorrowful  rejoice.  He  was 
the  same  man  who  planned  the  dinner." 

After  tea,  Mrs.  Chilton  took  out  her  manu- 
script book. 

"  The  story  I  shall  read,"  said  she,  "  is  a  very 
painful  one,  but  sadly'true.  If  it  makes  you 
very  unhappy,  you  must  try  to  let  it  save 
you  from  committing  the  fault  which  was  so 
severely  punished.  All  the  essential  facts  are 

« 

true,  as  I  shall  read  them  to  you. 


CONSCIENCE.  31 

« It  is  only  a  Trifle? 

"  Be  sure,  my  son,"  said  Mr.  Pratt,  as  he  left 
his  counting  room,  in  Philadelphia,  "be  sure 
that  you  send  that  money  to  Mr.  Eeid  to-day ; 
direct  it  carefully,  and  see  that  all  is  done  in 
proper  form  and  order." 

"  Yes,  sir,"  replied  George,  "  I  will." 

George  fully  intended  to  obey  implicitly. 
He  was,  in  the  main,  desirous  to  do  right ;  but 
he  had  one  great  fault.  '  When  he  had  a  small  t 
duty  to  perform,  he  was  apt  to  say  and  think, 
"  0,  that  is  only  a  trifle.  Why  should  we  lay 
so  much  stress  on  trifles?"  He  would  often 
say,  when  any  one  found  fault  with  him  for 
the  neglect  of  a  small  duty, "  I  am  sure  it  is 
only  a  trifle." 

George,  as  soon  as  he  had  finished  some- 


32  CONSCIENCE. 

thing  lie  was  about,  wrote  the  letter  according 
to  the  directions  given  him,  carefully  enclosed 
the  money  in  it,  nicely  folded  and  sealed  it. 
Just  as  he  was  preparing  to  direct  it,  a  young 
man  opened  the  door  of  the  counting  room  in 
great  haste,  and  begged  him  to  go  with  him 
that  moment,  to  speak  to  some  one  who  was 
then  passing. 

"  I  can  direct  and  carry  the  letter,"  said 
George's  younger  brother ;  "  I  know  to  whom  it 
is  to  go,  and  I  can  send  it  just  as  well  as  you." 

George  had  a  slight  feeling  in  his  heart  that 
he  ought  not  to  leave  this  letter  to  any  one  to 
direct;  but  his  brother  again  said,  "I  should 
think  I  could  do  such  a  trifling  thing  as  that ; 
I  can  surely  direct  a  letter,  though  I  cannot 
write  one  yet." 

Frank  was  the  younger  apprentice,  and  was 


CONSCIENCE.  33 

anxious  to  get  forward  and  do  what  George 
did. 

"  Well,"  said  George,  "  you  may  do  it,  but  be 
sure  you  do  it  right.  John  Reid,  you  know,  is 
the  name;"  and  he  went  with  his  companion. 
"  It  is  only  a  trifle,"  he  said  to  himself,  as  he 
remembered  his  father's  charge.  "  I  have  done 
all  that  is  really  important  It  is  of  little  con- 
sequence who  directs  and  carries  the  letter." 
So  he  chased  away  the  slight  cloud  that  hung 
over  his  mind  as  he  left  the  counting  room 
with  his  friend. 

These  slight  clouds  that  rise  in  the  soul's 
horizon,  so  prophetic,  so  full  of  mercy  or  of 
terror  as  we  regard  or  slight  them !  Why  do 
we  not  learn  their  meaning  ?  •  Why  are  they 
not  ever  messengers  of  love  and  peace  to  us  ? 
Had  George  stopped  and  considered,  perhaps 
3 


34  CONSCIENCE. 

he  would  not  have  done  as  he  did,  perhaps  he 
would  not  have  called  this  duty  a  trifle,  and 
would  not  have  left  the  counting  room  till 
he  had  performed  every  tittle  of  his  father's 
command. 

The  letter  was  directed  and  sent.  Frank 
did  as  well  as  he  knew  how. 

When  George  returned,  he  asked, "  Have  you 
directed  the  letter  to  Mr.  John  Reid  ?  " 

"  Yes,  I  have,  and  carried  it  to  the  office.'* 

"Did  you  enclose  that  money  to  Mr.  Reid, 
George  ? "  asked  his  father,  when  he  next 
saw  him. 

"  Yes,  sir,"  George  replied,  with  a  slight  hesi- 
tation, which,  however,  he  soon  got  over; 
"  for,"  said  he  to  himself, "  I  enclosed  the  money 
carefully  •  what  does  it  matter  whether  Frank 
t>r  I  directed  the  letter?"  So  he  spoke  out 
freely  to  his  father. 


CONSCIENCE.  35 

"All  right,  father;  the  letter  is  on  its  way 
to  Ohio." 

Unfortunately  his  father  had  not  noticed  his 
hesitation,  was  satisfied,  and  asked  no  further 
questions. 

Again  George  checked  the  monitions  of  his 
conscience.  Again  he  said  to  himself,  "  It's 
only  a  trifle."  He  had  yet  to  learn  that  no 
duty  is  a  trifle. 

Weeks  passed,  and  there  was  no  acknowl- 
edgment of  the  money.  At  last  a  letter  ar- 
rived from  Mr.  Eeid  to  Mr.  Pratt,  requesting 
him,  if  convenient,  to  pay  the  two  hundred  dol- 
lars promised  to  him  some  weeks  before. 

Mr.  Eeid  was  a  poor  man,  to  whom  two  hun- 
dred dollars  was  an  important  sum. 

Mr.  Pratt  again  questioned  his  son,  and  was 
again  assured  that  the  money  had  been  sent/ 


36  CONSCIENCE. 

and  wrote  to  Mr.  Reid  accordingly,  advising 
him  to  inquire  at  the  post  office. 

There  happened  to  be  a  young  man  in  the 
office,  by  the  name  of  Harry  Brown,  whose 
mother  was  a  widow.  She  was  poor,  and  a 
stranger  in  the  town.  Her  son  had  obtained 
his  place  on  account  of  his  quick  intelligence, 
and  because  he  could  also  write  a  very  good 
hand.  Strong  suspicions  fell  upon  him.  He 
was  questioned  about  the  letter,  and  at  last 
Mr.  Reid  accused  him  of  the  theft. 

The  young  man's  indignation  was  uncon- 
trollable ;  he  turned  white  with  anger ;  he 
could  not  speak ;  he  stammered  and  clenched 
his  fists,  and  at  last  burst  into  tears  and  left 
the  office. 

All  this  was  taken  for  the  agony  of  detected 
guilt  and  neither  the  postmaster  nor  Mr.  Reid 


CONSCIENCE.  37 

attempted  to  stop  him,  for  neither  of  them 
wished  to  have  him  punished,  and  they  hoped 
to  recover  the.  money  by  gentler  means. 

We  will  now  change  the. scene.  Let  us  en- 
ter this  small,  neat  cottage.  There  are  but 
two  rooms  on  the  floor.  One  is  kitchen  and 
parlor,  the  other  a  bed  room.  A  sort  of  ladder 
in  one  corner  intimates  that  in  the  small  attic 
is  also  a  sleeping  place.  A  small  table  is 
spread  for  two  people  ;  it  is  very  clean  and 
nice,  but  every  thing  that  you  see  indicates  pov- 
erty. An  old  woman,  with  a  sweet  but  sorrow- 
ful countenance,  sits  by  the  small  window, 
looking  anxiously  out  of  it  for  some  one  who 
you  might  suppose  was  to  share  her  simple 
meal  with  her,  which  stood  nicely  covered  up 
at  the  fire,  awaiting  his  arrival.  She  is  talking  . 
to  herself. 


38  CONSCIENCE. 

"One  treasure  is  yet  left  me  in  this  world 
—  my  noble,  beautiful,  brave  son.  God  bless 
him ;  for  him  I  am  willing  to  live.  There  he 
comes ;  how  fast  he  runs !  but  how  red  and 
heated  he  looks !  What  is  the  matter,  Harry  ? 
what  has  happened  ? "  she  exclaimed,  as  he 
entered  ;  "  are  you  sick  ?  "/ 

"  Yes,  Mother,  and  I  shall  never  be  well 
again.  I  have  been  accused  of  stealing,  and 
Mr.  Eeid  and  the  postmaster  *both  believe  it.  I 
cannot  live  here  any  longer.  I  have  just  come 
from  the  recruiting  office  ;  I  have  enlisted  for 
the  Mexican  War,  and  I  hope  I  shall  be  shot ; 
I  go  the  day  after  to-morrow.  I  will  never 
be  seen  here  again.  To  think  that  any  one 
should  dare  to  accuse  me  of  theft !  "Why  did 
I  not  knock  him  down  ?  I  hate  the  world,  I 
hate  all  mankind,  I  hate  life,  I  want  to  die. 


CONSCIENCE.  39 

If  it  were  not  for  you,  Mother,  I  believe  I 
should  kill  myself.  0  Mother,  Mother!  how 
can  I  live  ?"  And  the  poor  fellow  laid  his 
head  in  his  mother's  lap  and  wept  bitterly. 

The  poor  mother  —  she  spoke  not,  she  did 
not  weep ;  she  laid  her  hands  ^upon  her  son's 
head,  and  looked  up  through  the  thin  roof  of 
her  poor  cottage,  far,  far  into  the  everlasting 
heavens,  where  alone  are  peace  and  hope  to  be 
found.  In  her  deep  agony  she  called  upon  the 
Almighty  for  aid.  She  looked  like  a  marble 
image  of  despair. 

"  I  must  prepare  to  go,"  at  last  her. son  said ; 
"  I  have  enlisted,  and  I  must  be  ready.  What 
will  you  clo  with  yourself,  Mother  ?  " 

"  Go  with  you,  my  child.  Wherever  you  go, 
there  I  go  too.  I  can  cook  for  the  camp.  You 
have  done  wrong,  my  son,  in  enlisting  as  a 


40  CONSCIENCE. 

soldier ;  why  not  come  first  to  me  ?  Your 
innocence  will  yet  be  proved.  Why  were 
you  so  rash?  All  might  have  yet  been  well 
with  us." 

"  I  cannot  bear  it,  Mother ;  I  must  go." 

"  Then  I  go  .with  you ;  I  will  never  desert 
you." 

"But  0,  you  will  be  killed  with  fatigue  and 
exposure.  Mother,  dear  Mother,  stay  till  I  can 
get  you  a  new  home." 

"I  go,  my  son,  where  you  go,"  said  his 
mother ;  "  my  only  home  is  with  you." 

In  two  clays  their  few  possessions  were  sold, 
and  they  were  gone. 

We  will  now  return  to  the  counting  room 
where  our  true  story  began.  Some  months 
had  passed ;  the  father  and  son  are  there. 
a  George,"  said  Mr.  Pratt,  "  I  cannot  but  fear 


CONSCIENCE.  41 

you  made  some  mistake  about  that  letter. 
Money  is  seldom  stolen  out  of  letters.  Were 
you  very  particular  about  the  name  and  place 
in  your  direction  ?" 

"The  truth  is,  Sir,  that  Frank  directed  the 
letter;  I  wrote  and  folded  and  sealed  it;  but 
just  as  I  was  going  to  direct  it,  Harry  Flint 
called  me  to  speak  to  some  one,  and  I  let 
Frank  direct  it ;  but  I  told  him  to  be  sure  to 
direct  it  to  Mr.  John  Reid,  and  I  know  he  did 
so,  just  as  well  as  if  I  had  seen  it." 

The  father  looked  much  displeased.  "  You 
did  wrong,  George,  after  my  particular  orders." 

"  Why,  Father,  I  am  sure  it  was  of  no  im- 
portance which  of  us  did  it.  That  was  only  a 
trifle,  I  am  sure.  I  told  Frank  the  name,  and 
he  knows  where  Mr.  Reid  lives.  I  should  not 
think  you  would  blame  me  for  this " 


42  CONSCIENCE. 

"I  do  blame  you  very  much.  You  should 
not  have  left  this  to  Frank.  I  charged  you  to 
be  very  careful.  This  was  your  own  duty,  and 
you  should  have  performed  it  yourself. '  Your 
neglect  will  most  likely  cost  me  two  hundred 
dollars,  for  I  shall  send  the  money  to  Mr.  Reid ; 
he  of  course  is  not  to  lose  it.  You  cannot  be 
sure  that  Frank  directed  the  letter  correctly ; 
he  is  not  used  to  the  work." 

George  began  to  feel  that  it  was  not  a  trifle 
to  leave  another  person  to  direct  a  letter  of 
importance  ;  he  felt  very  sorry  at  the  thought 
of  losing  his  father's  money.  Poor  fellow  !  he 
had  a  worse  pain  than  this  to  endure. 
,m  The  next  morning,  when  the  letters  came 
from  the  post  office,  there  was  one  from  Mr. 
Reid.  The  missing  letter  had  at  last  arrived, 
and  the  two  hundred  dollars  were  in  it.  The 


CONSCIENCE.  43 

letter  had  been  misdirected.  There  was  a  mis- 
take in  the  name  of  the  place.  The  letter  had 
been  sent  to  Washington,  whence  he  had  just 
received  it,  as  the  person  whose  office  it  is  to 
read  these  letters  knew  him  personally,  and  so 
could  correct  the  mistake.  He  then  related 
the  sad  story  of  the  clerk  and  his  poor  mother. 
He  added  that  he  went  to  the  poor  woman's 
house  the  very  day  that  he  left  the  town,  in- 
tending to  satisfy  his  mind  upon  the  question 
of-  her  son's  guilt,  of  which  he  began  to  doubt 
— intending,  if  he  found  the  young  man  inno- 
cent, to  take  him  back  into  the  office,  and  if 
not,  to  try  to  induce  him  to  restore  the  money, 
and  go,  to  recover  his  character,  to  some  other 
place,  to  which  he  would  have  helped  him  to 
remove.  He  was  •  too  late.  He  found  the 
house  empty.  "I  pity  the  person/'  he  said, 


44  CONSCIENCE. 

"  who  misdirected  that  letter  —  he  was  the  un- 
conscious cause  of  the  ruin  of  two  excellent 
beings.  We  may  blame  the  young  man's  vio- 
lence, and  may  call  him  foolish  and  passionate ; 
yet  it  was  a  deep  hatred  of  even  the  appear- 
ance of  sin  and  shame  that  made  him  do  so 
mad  an  action  as  to  enlist  in  a  wicked  war." 

Mr.  Pratt  now  read  this  letter  to  his  son. 
George  covered  his  face  to  hide  his  shame  and 
sorrow ;  his  heart  was  ready  to  break  with 
agony.  He  groaned  aloud.  He  spoke  not  one 
word. 

George  was  suffering  in  silence  the  bitterest 
of  all  pains  which  a  good  mind  can  endure, — 
that  of  being  the  cause  of  misery  to  others, 
through  one's  own  wrong-doing.  After  a  few 
moments,  he  started  up  and  exclaimed,  "  I  must 
send  word  to  the  poor  fellow  that  the  money 


CONSCIENCE.  45 

is  found  and  his  innocence  proved ;  let  me  do 
what  I  can  to  repair  the  evil  I  have  caused. 
If  I  write  to  the  postmaster  and  tell  him  the 
story,  he  will  take  the  poor  fellow  back  again. 
I  have  some  money  of  my  own,  Father,  to  pay 
for  the  travelling  expenses  of  the  boy  and  his 
mother.  All  perhaps  may  yet  be  right.  I  can 
work.  I  will  do  any  thing  for  them.  Poor 
Harry  Brown  —  so  proud  and  so  honest !  0, 
Father !  I  hate  myself.  But  how  shall  I  send 
him  word  ?  the  post  is  not  certain ;  let  me 
think.  Bill  Smith  said  he  was  going  to  the 
war,  if  he  could  get  money  enough  for  his  jour- 
ney. He  would  take  my  letter.  I'll  be  after 
him,  and  get  him  off  in  no  time." 

Away  flew  George ;  he  gave  Bill  Smith  the 
money,  told  him  the  story,  and  sent  him  off  for 
Mexico  that  very  night.  George  then  wrote  to 


46 


CONSCIENCE. 


the  postmaster,  and  implored  him  to  write  im- 
mediately to  Harry,  and  offer  him  again  the 
place  in  the  office.  George  wqpt  to  bed  with  a 
heavy  heart,  still  with  the  hope  that  poor  Har- 
ry had  not  been  killed. 


CONSCIENCE.  47 

Now  let  us  follow  Harry  and  his  old  mother 
to  Mexico.  Many  weeks  have  passed  since  we 
left  George  mourning  his  fault,  and  sending  up 
prayers  for  the  life  of  poor  Harry.  It  is  a  few 
days  after  a  battle.  On  the  ground,  in  the 
corner  of  a  small  tent,  lies  a  poor  soldier. 
Bandages  stained  with  blood  are  lying  about. 
.  The  poor  sufferer  is  very  pale,  and  his  face 
shows  marks  of  pain.  An  old  woman,  whose 
face  is  full  of  anxious  love,  sits  by  his  side  and 
holds  his  hand.  The  young  man  lifts  the  old 
withered  hand  to  his  lips  and  kisses  it ;  he  looks 
up  through  the  thin  canvas  of  his  tent,  and 
says,  "  Thank  God,  dear  Mother,  that  you  are 
here  with  me  now  to  take  care  of  me,  else  I 
think  I  should  die.  Forgive  my  rashness ;  if  I 
live  I  will  yet  be*  a  good  son  to  you.  I  knew 
I  was  not  a  thief,  and  that  ought  to  have  been  , 


48  CONSCIENCE. 

enough  for  me.  I  was  wrong  to  be  so  angry, 
and  to  forget  you,  whom  I  ought  to  have  staid 
by  and  taken  care  of,  as  I  promised  father  I 
would.  Forgive  me,  dear  Mother.  Perhaps  I 
shall  be  a  better  man  with  one  leg  than  I  was 
with  two." 

While  the  poor  fellow,  who  had  lost  his  leg 
the  first  day  he  went  to  battle,  was  slowly  ut- 
tering these  words,  the  tears  were  running  fast 
down  the  hollow  cheeks  of  his  old  mother,  but 
gentle,  quiet  tears,  as  though  the  heart  of  her 
who  shed  them  was  resigned  and  peaceful. 

"  I  thank  God  for  your  life,  my  son.  Your 
fighting  days  are  over ;  they  have  been  short ; 
but  usefulness  and  happiness  are  yet  before  you, 
though  you  go  through  life  maimed.  I  shall 
yet  see  you  smiling  and  happy  again  in  our 
cottage,  your  innocence  proved,  your  place 
restored,  and  friends  all  around  you." 


CONSCIENCE.  49 

"  How  can  that  be  ?  "  said  Harry ;  a  there  is 
only  my  word  and  character  as  evidence  of  my 
honesty.  I  cannot  go  back  to  the  old  place  — 
never,  never,  Mother.  What  shall  I  do  ?  Bet- 
ter die  than  live  disgraced," 

"  Have  no  fear,  Harry ;  I  have  none.  I  am 
sure  all  will  be  well,  and  your  honesty  proved. 
So  go  to  sleep,  as  the  surgeon  directed.  Have 
faith ;  you  have  shown  courage."  His  mother 
smoothed  the  clothes  over  him,,  and  gently- 
stroked  his  hand,  and  he  was  silent,  and  fell 
asleep. 

Presently,  the  surgeon  looked  in.  He  was  a 
kind-hearted  man,  and  knew  their  story.  He 
said  softly,  "  When  the  boy  wakes  I  have  some 
news  for  him  that  will  do  him  more  good  than 
I  can."  ^ 

Harry,  who  was  just  waking,  started  and  ex- 
4 


50  CONSCIENCE. 

claimed,  u  What  news  ?  tell  me  this  minute !  is 
the  money  found  ?  " 

"Come,  Mr.  Gunpowder,  keep  quiet,  if  you 
please,  or  you'll  not  hear  any  thing  from  me." 

"Yes,  yes ;  I  am  as  quiet  as  a  lamb,  only  be 
quick.  Tell  me  the  news." 

"  Well,  here  are  two  letters  that  a  great  six 
foot  chap  has  brought,  not  for  your  lambship, 
Mr.  Harry,  but  for  your  good  mother,  who 
takes  things  like  a  rational  being." 

He  gave  the  letters  to  the  mother  and  left 
the  tent,  saying  with  a  smile,  "  Don't  be  too 
happy." 

The  letter  from  the  postmaster  was  to  ask 
Harry's  pardon  "for  the  injustice,  and  to  offer 
the  place  in  the  office.  "  There  is  no  one,"  it 
concluded,  "  I  could  trust  as  I  can  you." 

The  other  was  from  George,  as  follows :  — 


CONSCIENCE.  51 

"  DEAR  MR.  BROWN  :  My  neglect  of  my  duty 
in  directing  a  letter  was  the  real  cause  of  the 
suspicion  that  fell  upon  you.  I  can  never  for- 
give myself.  I  can  hardly  hope  you  can  for- 
give me.  If  you  will  be  generous  enough  to 
try  to  do  so,  you  will  make  me  less  unhappy. 
If  you  accept  the  sum  I  enclose  you  to  meet 
the  expenses  of  your  journey,  I  shall  be  less 
miserable.  By  taking  it  you  will  prove  that 
you  pity  and  forgive  me,  —  the  unintentional 
cause  of  so  much  evil  to  you  and  your  excel- 
lent mother."  George  enclosed  a  check  for 
five  hundred  dollars,  all  he  had  saved  from  his 
earnings  as  a  clerk  for  the  two  years  past. 

"  Thank  Heaven,  my  innocence  is  proved ! " 
said  the  honest  fellow.  "  But,  Mother,  I  don't 
want  the  money." 

"  It  is  kinder  to  take  it,"  said  the  mother. 


52  CONSCIENCE. 

% 

Harry  submitted.  Ere  long,  he  was  able  to 
move  on  crutches.  He  and  his  mother  were 
again  in  their  little  cottage.  "Harry  received 
the  heartiest  welcome  from  his  towns-people 
when  he  was  seen  again  with  his  one  leg  in  his 
place  in  the  postroffice. 

George  often  went  to  the  town.  His  first 
visit  was  always  to  Mrs.  Brown.  He  treated 
.  her  as  if  she  were  his  mother,  and  her  son  was 
to  him  as  a  brother.  He  was  often  heard  to 
say,  "  The  sound  of  Harry  Brown's  crutches 
always  reminds  me  sorrowfully  that  when  there 
is  a  duty  to  perform  involving  the  rights  of 
others  we  should  never  say,  It  is  only  a  trifle." 

"  It  seems  to  me,"  said  Frank,  "  that  I  should 
never  have  been  happy  again  to  have  caused 
so  much  misery  by  the  neglect  of  my  duty; 
and  yet,  Mother,  it  did  seem  a  trifle." 


CONSCIENCE.  53 

"  My  mother,"  replied  Mrs.  Chilton,  "  said  to 
me,  when  I  was  a  girl,  Never  consider "  any 
duty,  ever  so  great,  as  too  difficult,  or  any,  ever 
so  small,  as  too  trifling.  I  have  never  for- 
gotten her  words,  and  though  I  have  not  always 
been  faithful  to  this  lesson,  it  has  often  saved 
me  from  wrong-doing  and  its  consequent  un- 
happiness." 

After  a  short  silence,  Mrs.  Chilton  said  to 
her  boys,  The  next  story  is  not  so  painful,  but 
it  illustrates  the  same  truth  —  that,  in  matters 
of  conscience,  nothing  is  trifling.  You  shah1 
now  hear  how  happy  a  good  conscience  can 
make  one  even  under  the  severest  trials. 

.  One  pleasant  afternoon,  my  friend"  and  I  were 
seated  in  the  neat  little  room  which  served  old 
Susan  Vincent  for  parlor,  kitchen,  and  bed- 
room. She  was  sitting  in  a  nice  arm-chair 


54          .  CONSCIENCE. 

which  her  infirmities  made  necessary,  for  her 
comfort.  A  kind  friend  had  sent  it  to  her. 
She  had  on  a  nice  clean  gingham  gown,  a 
handkerchief  crossed  on  her  neck,  in  the  fashion 
of  the  Shakers,  and  a  plain  cap,  as  white  as 
the  driven  snow,  covered  her  silver  locks.  A 
little  round  table,  polished  by  frequent  scouring, 
stood  beside  her ;  on  it  was  her  knitting  work, 
Baxter's  Saints'  Rest,  and  the  Bible ;  the  last  lay 
open  before  her.  She  was  reading  in  it  when 
we  entered.  As  her  door  was  open  and  she 
did  not  hear  very  quickly,  we  had  an  opportu- 
nity of  observing  her  before  she  perceived  us. 
There  was  that  deep  interest  in  her  manner  of 
reading  this  holy  book,  as  she  was  leaning  over 
it  with  her  spectacles  on,  entirely  absorbed, 
that  made  her  resemble  a  person  who  was 
examining  a  title  deed  to  an  estate  which 


CONSCIENCE.  55 

was  to  make  her  the  heir  of  uncounted  treas- 
ures. She  was  indeed  reading  with  her  whole 
soul  the  proofs  she  there  found  of  her  claim 
to  an  inheritance  that  makes  all  earthly  riches 
seem  poor  indeed. 

"  I  am  glad  to  see  you,  dear,"  was  her  affec- 
tionate welcome  to  me ;  "  do  I  know  this  lady 
with  you  ?  " 

''•  No,"  I  answered ;  "  she  is  my  friend  whom  I 
told  you  the  other  day  I  should  bring  to  see  you." 

"  I  am  glad  to  see  her  if  she  is  your  friend," 
she  replied. 

"  I  want  you,  Susan,  if  you  are  strong 
enough  to-day,  to  repeat  to  my  friend  that  lit- 
tle account  of  yourself  that  you  were  once 
kind  enough  to r  give  me." 

"  What,  the  whole  story  ?  "  said  Susan,  "  be- 
ginning at  the  beginning,  as  the  children  say  ?  " 


56  CONSCIENCE. 

Susan  was  silent  a  minute  or  two,  as  if  to 
collect  her  thoughts,  and  then  said,  I  have 
always  believed,  that,  though  it  seemed  strange 
that  such  a  good-for-nothing  creature  'as  I 
am  should  be  spared,  and  others  taken  away, 
that,  may  be,  I  was  left  to  give  my  tes- 
timony for  some  good  purpose,  and  that 
my  experience  might  do  some  good  to  poor 
pilgrims.  For 

"  It  is  a  straight  and  thorny  road, 
And  mortal  spirits  tire  and  faint ; 

But  they  forget  the  mighty  God 

Who  feeds  the  strength  of  every  saint." 

.  Susan  knew  half  the  hymn  book  ,by  heart, 
and  loved  to  repeat  hymns  so  well,  that  she 
could  hardly  have  told  her  story  without  this 
preface.  She  immediately  began  as  follows : — 


CONSCIENCE.  57 

"  My  father,  who  was  a  sailor,  lost  his  life  at 
sea  when  I  was  two  years  old ;  my  mother 
never  had  very  good  health,  and  about  six 
years  afterward  she  fell  into  a  consumption. 
She  lived  only  a  year  after  she  was  taken  sick. 
I  was  too  young  to  remember  much  of  her, 
but  I  have  a  distinct  recollection  of  seeing  her 
often  sitting  by  a  little  stand  like  this,  with  an 
open  Bible  upon  it ;  and  once  I  was  struck  with 
her  looking  up  to  heaven  with  her  hands  • 
clasped  for  a  long  time  as  if  she  were  praying, 
and  then  looking  at  me,  and  then  at  the  book ; 
and  I  saw  big  tears  rolling  down  her  cheeks. 
She  called  me  to  her,  and  said,  with  an  earnest 
but  broken  voice,  God  save  my  child  from  the 
evil  that  is  in  the  world  !  and  give  her  the 
testimony  of  a  good  conscience. 

These  words  I  could  not  forget,  for  the  next 


58  CONSCIENCE. 

day  she  died.  We  forget  many  things  in  this 
world,  ladies,  but  the  words  of  a  dying  mother 
we  cannot  help  remembering.  This  ^Yas  the 
first  time  I  had  ever  seen  death,  but  there 
was  such  a  peaceful,  happy  expression  in  my 
mother's  face,  that  it  did  not  seem  very  terrible 
to  me,  till  I  found  they  were  going  to  carry 
her  away ;  indeed,  I  think  I  must  have  believed 
it  was  sleep,  and  expected  her.  to  awake ;  for, 
when  they  took  her  from  me,  I  was  half  out  of 
my  senses,  and  screamed  for  them  to  leave  me 
my  mother. 

A  kind  old  lady,  a  friend  to  my  mother,  took 
me  in  her  lap  and  put  her  arms  round  me, 
and  tried  to  soothe  and  comfort  me.  She  told 
me  my  mother  had  gone  to  heaven ;  that  it 
was  only  her  body  that  was  dead ;  but  that  her 
soul  was  living,  and  was  gone  to  heaven.  "  She 


CONSCIENCE.  59 

will  never  be  sick  or  unhappy  any  more ;  she 
is  gone  to  God,  and  she  will  live  forever  with 
Jesus  Christ  and  ah1  good  beings." 

66  But  I  want  to  see  her,"  said  I. 

"  You  will  see  her  again,  I  doubt  not,  my 
child,  if  you  are  good,"  the  old  lady  said.  Per- 
haps I  should  not  have  remembered  so  exactly 
what  she  said,  if  she  had  not  frequently  re- 
peated the  same  thing  to  me,  and  if  I  had  not 
loved  my  mother  so  much. 

This  excellent  lady  took  me  home  with  her, 
and  it  was  to  her  goodness  I  owe  every  thing. 
She  had  lost  nearly  all  her  property  by  the 
failure  of  a  merchant  to  whom  she  had  lent 
money;  she  had  supported  herself  by  taking 
boarders.  I  was  perfectly  destitute ;  my  moth- 
er had  made  out  to  get  a  living  by  taking  in 
sewing,  but  left  nothing.  The  last  year  of  her 


60  CONSCIENCE. 

life  she  C9uld  not  have  got  along  without  my 
assistance,  and  what  was  given  her  by  her 
charitable  neighbors;  and  for  the  last  three 
months  she  could  not  even  make  her  bed,  or 
clean  her  own  room,  or  do  her  little  cooking, 
without  my  help.  And  0,  how  happy  I  was 
when  I  was  helping  my  dear  mother !  Now  at 
this  moment,  when  I  am  so  old,  and  forget  so 
many  things,  how  well  I  remember  her  and  all 
she  said !  It  seems  as  if  I  could  hear  her  say, 
"What  should  I  do  without  you,  my  dear  Su- 
san." It  seems  to  me  as  if  I  would  rather  live 
over  again  those  days,  when  I  was  trying  to 
help  and  comfort  my  sick  mother,  than  any  of 
my  whole  life.  Children  are  not  aware  how 
much  they  can  do  for  their  parents,  nor  do  they 
know  what  a  blessed  remembrance  it  will  be  to 
them  to  think  that  they  have  lessened  the  su£ 


CONSCIENCE.  61 

ferings  of  a  sick  mother.  All  the  riches  in 
the  world  would  not  afford  them  such  happi- 
ness. 

Mrs.  Brown,  the  kind  lady  who  took  rne 
home,  told  me  that  she  would  send  me  to 
school,  and  that  I  should  have  a  home  at  her 
house ;  but  that,  as  she  was  very  poor,  she 
should  expect  me  to  exert  myself  when  I  was 
not  at  school,  and  do  all  I  could  to  help  in  the 
house ;  and  that  I  must  improve  my  time  at 
school.  She  gave  me  a  great  deal  of  good  ad- 
vice, and  told  me  I  must  not  imitate  the  bad 
conduct  that  I  might  see ;  and  that  I  must 
never  do  any  thing  without  asking  my  con- 
science whether  it  was  right  to  do  it.  I  remem- 
ber she  asked  me  if  I  knew  what  my  conscience 
was.  I  was  not  quite  sure  that  I  did ;  so  I  said, 
I  did  not  know  whether  I  did.  Then  she  asked 
me  if  I  ever  remembered  doing  wrong. 


62  CONSCIENCE. 

"  0  yes,  ma'am,"  I  said ;  "  I  never  shall  for- 
get playing  with  my  mother's  bottle  of  cough 
drops,  when  she  told  me  not  to,  and  spilling 
them  all  out.  I  did  not  tell  her  of  it  at 
first,  and  she  could  not  get  any  more  till  next 
day;  and  every  time  she  coughed,  it  seemed 
as  if  my  heart  would  break ;  and  I  hated  my- 
self, and  could  not  bear  it  at  all  till  I  told  her 
I  had  played  with  the  bottle  and  spilled  the 
drops." 

"  It  was  your  conscience,  Susan,"  the  old  lady 
said,  "  that  was  so  troubled ;  it  was  your  con- 
science that  said  you  must  tell  your  mother ; 
this  is  God's  witness  in  your  heart ;  always  do 
as  that  directs  you,  and  come  what  will,  Susan, 
you  can  bear  it." 

I  was  so  grateful  to  my  kind  friend  for  her 
tender  care  of  me,  that  I  attended  to  all  she 


CONSCIENCE.  63 

said  to  me,  and  never  forgot  it ;  and  it  has  been 
the  source  of  happiness  to  me  through  life.  I 
had  not  been  long  in  the  school  before  I  had  a 
trial  of  my  conscience,  and  I  thank  Him  who . 
is  the  giver  of  all  strength  that  I  resisted  this 
first  temptation. 

One  day  the  schoolmistress  left  her  pen- 
knife open  upon  her  desk,  when  she  went  out 
of  her  room  during  the  recess ;  nearly  all  the 
girls  took  it  into  their  hands  to  look  at  it,  for 
it  had  a  number  of  blades,  and  was  rather  cu- 
rious ;  some  of  them  tried  the  knife  to  see  how 
sharp  it  was.  We  had  been  told  not  to  med- 
dle with  her  things,  and  all  of  us  knew  it  was 
wrong ;  as  I  was  one  of  the  small  girls,  I  did 
not  get  a  chance  to  look  at  it  till  all  had  seen 
it ;  but,  when  the  others  ran  out  to  the  play 
ground,  and  I  was  left  alone,  I  went  to  the 


CONSCIENCE. 


desk,  and  took  up  the  knife,  and  opened  and 
shut  all  the  blades ;  but  instead  of  leaving  the 
one  open  which  I  found  so,  I  left  open  another 
blade,  just  put  it  on  the  edge  of  my  nail,  to  see 


CONSCIENCE.  65 

how  very  sharp  it  was,  and  then  laid  it  down, 
and  ran  after  the  rest  of  the  girls. 

When  the  schoolmistress  came  in,  she  im- 
mediately saw  that  we  had  taken  up  her  knife. 
"  Some  one,"  said  she,  "  has  been  using  my 
knife ;  I  am  sure  of  it,  because  the  blade  that 
I  left  open  is  shut,  and  another  is  open,  and  it 
is  gapped ;  who  has  done  it  ?"  Not  a  girl  spoke  ; 
I  thought  that  I  was  the  only  one  who  had 
opened  and  shut  the  blades,  but  I  knew  I  had 
not  gapped  either  of  them.  I  knew  that  all  the 
others  had  taken  up  the  knife ;  I  was  afraid  to 
speak ;  I  did  not  like  to  take  the  whole  blame, 
and  I  was  silent  as  the  other  girls  were. 

After  waiting  a  few  minutes,  our  teacher 
said,  "  As  none  of  you  choose  to  confess  who 
has  done  this,  I  shall  have  to  punish  the  inno- 
cent with  the  guilty ;  I  shall  take  away  a  merit 
5 


66  CONSCIENCE. 

from  all  of  you,  except  those  few  girls  who,  I 
feel  sure,  would  not  disobey  me." 

There  were  only  five  girls  in  the  school  who 
did  not  lose  a  merit,  and  I  was  one  of  the  num- 
ber. As  she  named  them  over,  and  gave  her 
reasons  for  believing  them  innocent,  when  she 
came  to  me,  she  said, "  Little  Susan  Vincent  has 
been  so  orderly  and  so  good  ever  since  she  has 
been  here,  that  I  am  sure  it  was  not  she  that 
did  it,  and,  if  she  had,  I  am  sure  she  would  con- 
fess it." 

I  felt  as  if  I  was  choking;  I  put  my  head 
clear  down  so  that  no  one  could  see  my  face ; 
*lmt  the  girls,  who  had  none  of  them  seen  me 
touch  the  knife,  thought  that  my  modesty  made 
me  appear  so  much  confused ;  no  one  but  God 
and  myself  knew  that  I  had  a  guilty  con- 
science. I  felt  too  dreadfully  to  speak  then ;  I 


CONSCIENCE.  67 

thought  of  nothing  else  all  school  time;  I 
missed  in  all  my  lessons,  for  I  did  not  attend  to 
any  thing  that  was  said  to  me.  The  school- 
mistress thought  I  was  sick,  and  I  went  home 
miserable  enough. 

As  I  went  along,  I  thought  over  all  that  Mrs. 
Brown  had  said  to  me  about  conscience,  and  I 
understood  then  what  she  meant  by  the  voice 
of  God  in  the  heart.  No  one  accused  me,  but 
I  felt  like  a  criminal ;  every  one  thought  well 
of  me  ;  my  schoolmistress  and  companions  all 
loved  me ;  but  I  despised  and  hated  myself.  I 
felt  as  if  God  was  displeased  with  me. 

As  usual,  I  went  directly  to  Mrs.  Brown  to 
ask  what  she  had  for  me  to  do.  "  What's  the 
matter,  Susan?"  said  she;  "you  don't  look 
right ;  have  you  been  naughty,  or  are  you  sick, 
my  child?" 


68  CONSCIENCE. 

I  could  not  bear  to  have  her  speak  so  kindly 
to  me  when  I  did  not  deserve  it,  and  I  burst 
into  tears;  I  loved  her  like  a  mother,  and  I 
told  her  all. 

"And  now,  Susan,  what  are  you  going  to 
do?" 

"I  want  you,  ma'am,  to  tell  the  schoolmis- 
tress." 

"  Better  tell  her  yourself,"  she  answered. 

After  thinking  a  while,  I  said  that  I  would ; 
and  then  my  conscience  was  a  little  easier. 
I  went  a  little  before  the  time,  that  I  might 
see  her  alone.  When  I  came  in,  I  found  a  friend 
of  hers  with  her,  and  I  heard  my  mistress  whis- 
per, "  This  is  my  dear  little  orphan  girl."  She 
called  me  to  her,  and  took  me  up  in  her  lap. 
"  Well,  honest  little  Sue,"  said  she,  "  why  don't 
you  look  up  in  my  face,  as  you  know  you 
always  do  ?  " 


CONSCIENCE.  69 

This  was  too  much  for  me;  I  burst  into 
tears,  and  put  my  hands  over  my  face. 

66  What's  the  matter,  Susan  ?  "  said  she. 

As  soon  as  I  could  speak,  I  said,  "  I  did  open 
the  knife ;  I  was  wicked  when  you  thought  I 
was  good,  for  I  did  not  tell  the  truth ;  I  opened 
and  shut  all  the  blades,  and  I  cut  a  notch  on 
my  nail  with  one,  and  then  I  did  not  tell  you 
of  it  when  you  asked  who  opened  it."  When 
I  had  got  it  all  out,  I  felt  better ;  it  seemed  as 
if  a  great  load  was  taken  off  of  my  heart. 

In  a  few  minutes,  my  kind  friend  said  to  me, 
u  I  am  sorry  you  did  wrong,  Susan ;  but  I  am 
very  glad  to  see  that  you  have  a  tender  con- 
science, and  that  it  has  made  you  come  and 
confess  your  faults ;  I  am  very  glad  that  you 
are  so  sorry;  it  is  a  bad  sign  when  children 
think  they  are  happy,  after  they  have  done 


70  CONSCIENCE. 

wrong.  I  trust,  my  dear  Susan,  that  you  have 
suffered  so  much,  that  you  will  never  commit 
such  a  fault  again ;  it  was  only  foolish  and  dis- 
obedient to  take  up  my  knife,  but  it  was  very 
wrong  not  to  tell  me,  when  I  asked  who  did 
it,  and  let  me  punish  so.  many  girls  for  your 
offence." 

I  saw  that  she  thought  I  was  the  only  one 
that  had  touched  the  knife,  and  believed  me 
worse  than  I  was ;  and  then  I  felt  what  a  differ- 
ence there  was  between  a  good  and  an  evil 
conscience ;  for  it  did  not  trouble  me  half  so 
much  that  she  thought  me  worse  than  I  really 
was,  as  to  see  that  she  thought  me  better. 

Then  she  said,  "You  must,  Susan,  confess 
before  the  whole  school  that  it  was  you  that 
took  my  knife." 

While  she  was  speaking,  the  girls  came  in. 


CONSCIENCE.  71 

I  had  cried  so  much  that  I  could  hardly  speak; 
and  my  good  friend  said  that,  as  I  was  a  little 
girl,  she  would  speak  for  me. 

As  soon  as  she  said  that  I  had  confessed  that 
it  was  I  that  took  the  knife,  almost  every  girl 
in  the  school  cried  out,  "  It  was  not  little  Su- 
san, it  was  I!"  "It  was  not  Sue,  it  was  I!" 
was  heard  all  round  the  room.  This  made  me 
feel  bold  enough  to  speak,  and  I  said, 

"  Yes,  I  did  take  it  up  when  you  were  all  out 
on  the  play  ground ;  I  opened  and  shut  all  the 
blades,  and  cut  a  little  notch  on  my  nail." 

"  And  so  did  I ! "  "  And  so  did  I ! "  was  heard 
from  a  number  of  voices.  "And  we  took  it  up 
first,"  said  all  the  girls. 

When. there  was  silence,  the  schoolmistress 
told  us  that  she  was  glad  to  see  that,  though 
we  had  done  wrong  in  the  morning,  we  were 


72  CONSCIENCE. 

trying  now  to  do  right,  and  repair  our  fault ; 
that  although  we  had  not  obeyed  conscience 
then,  we  were  acting  as  it  directed  us  now. 

"  And  are  you  not  all  happier  ? "  said  she. 
a  Yes,"  they  all  said.  "  And  is  not  God  good, 
to  put  this  feeling  in  your  hearts,  that  makes 
you  unhappy  when  you  do  wrong,  and  happy 
when  you  do  right  ?  Follow  this  guide,  chil- 
dren, and  it  will  lead  you  to  heaven." 

It  may  seem  strange  that  a  child,  hardly 
nine  years  old,  should  remember  all  that  was 
said  at  such  a  time ;  but  I  suffered  a  great  deal 
before  I  confessed  my  fault,  for  I  was  a  little 
proud  of  my  good  character  at  school,  and  my 
suffering  made  me  remember.  Besides,  Mrs. 
Brown  often  talked  about  conscience  to  me, 
and  told  me  that  I  must  learn  to  govern  my- 
self, for  that  when  she  died,  I  should  have 


CONSCIENCE.  73 

nothing  but  my  character  to  depend  upon ;  no 
guide  but  my  Bible  and  my  conscience,  and  no 
protector  but  God. 

When  I  was  about  fifteen  years  old,  Mrs. 
Brown,  rny  kind  friend,  died,  so  sweetly  and 
calmly  that  death  in  her  seemed  beautiful.  I 
sat  by  her  side,  after  I  had  closed  her  eyes,  and 
looked  in  her  dear  face,  till  even  my  grief  at 
losing  her  was  quieted,  and  till  I  felt  what  we 
learn  in  the  good  book,  that  the  good  never 
die.  I  felt  sure  that  her  soul  was  with  God. 

After  the  funeral,  I  went  out  to  inquire  for 
a  place,  and  soon  found  one,  for  every  one 
knew  Mrs.  Brown's  regard  for  me. 

I  met  with  a  great  trouble  at  my  first  place ; 
I  was  the  chamber  maid,  and  the  nursery  maid 
was  envious  of  me,  because  my  mistress  liked 
me  better  than  her.  She  often  accused  me  of 


74  CONSCIENCE. 

faults  I  did  not  commit ;  but,  when  my  mistress 
spoke  to  me,  I  looked  and  was  so  innocent  that 
she  was  convinced. 

One  morning  my  mistress  sent  for  me ;  as 
soon  as  I  saw  her  face  I  knew  that  something 
very  bad  was  the  matter,  for  the  tears  came 
into  her  eyes  when  she  spoke  to  me.  She  told 
me  that  she  was  very  sorry,  but  that  she  could 
not  keep  me  any  longer ;  she  was  grieved  to 
lose  me,  but  more  for  the  cause. 

I  asked  her  to  tell  me  the  cause. 

"I  am  afraid,"  she  said,  "indeed,  Susan,  I 
have  a  good  reason  to  believe,  that  you  are 
k  not  honest." 

I  do  confess,  ladies,  that  I  was  very  angry ; 
it  seemed  as  if  all  the  blood  in  my  body  flew 
up  into  my  face  and  head ;  I  could  not  speak, 
and  I  don't  know  but  my  confusion  and  anger 
together  made  me  look  guilty. 


CONSCIENCE.  75 

"  I  am  glad,"  said  she,  "  that  you  don't  tell 
any  falsehood  about  it;  you  are  welcome  to 
stay  here  till  you  get  a  place." 

By  this  time  I  could  speak,  and  I  said  to 
her,  "  I  am  as  innocent  as  the  child  just  born. 
I  never  took  so  much  as  a  pin  from  any  one  ; 
I  do  not  wish  to  stay  a  minute  in  your  house ; 
I  would  not  stay  in  any  one's  house  who  had 
accused  me  of  dishonesty ; "  and  I  called  upon 
my  mother  and  my  friend  Mrs.  Brown,  though 
I  knew  they  could  not  answer  me,  and  I  cried 
aloud  like  a  child. 

My  mistress  shed  tears,  and  said  she  should 
not  have  accused  me  without  certain  proofs  of 
my  dishonesty,  and  begged  me  to  confess  my 
fault,  and  to  stay  till  I  got  a  place  ;  but  I  told 
her  I  would  not  stay  another  minute,  and  I 
went  to  my  chamber  and  tied  up  my  bundle, 


76  CONSCIENCE. 

and  put  on  my  bonnet  and  shawl,  and  walked 
straight  off  without  speaking  to  any  one. 

I  had  gone  nearly  a  mile  before  I  was  at  all 
calmed,  and  then,  out  of  breath,  and  miserable 
beyond  words  to  tell,  I  sat  down  under  an  old 
tree  by  the  roadside.  It  w,as  autumn;  the  tree 
was  stripped  of  its  leaves,  the  wind  sounded 
mournfully  among  the  dead  branches,  there 
were  heavy  dark  clouds  in  the  sky,  and  my 
heart  was  heavier  and  darker  than  the  clouds, 
and  my  sighs  were  sadder  than  the  wind. 

The  place  where  I  had  been  living  was  two 
miles  from  the  village  where  I  had  lived  with 
Mrs.  Brown,  and  I  had  taken  the  road  to  it, 
though  then  she  was  not  there  to  take  me  in ; 
I  had  no  relation  in  the  wide  world ;  0, 1  never 
shall  forget  that  dreary  moment,  and  how  deso- 
late I  feli*  I  looked  up  into  the  sky,  and  called 
upon  God,  the  Father  of  the  fatherless;  I  cried 


CONSCIENCE.  77 

to  him  for  help,  and  help  came  to  me,  for  I 
felt  stronger  and  I  grew  composed ;  and  then 
I  remembered  I  was  innocent,  and  just  then 
the  sun  broke  out  between  two  dark  clouds, 
and  it  looked  to  me  like  the  pure  bright  eye 
of  God,  looking  right  into  my  heart,  and  see- 
ing my  innocence ;  and  then  it  seemed  as  if 
my  soul  was  full  of  light,  and  I  went  on  my 
way  to  the  village,  feeling  as  if  I  had  no  dread- 
ful sorrow. 

When  I  got  into  the  village,  I  remembered 
my  old  schoolmistress,  and  I  knew  that,  though 
she  was  poor  herself,  she  would  share  her  bed 
writh  me  for  a  night  at  least,  and  I  remembered 
that  scripture, "  Be  not  anxious  for  the  morrow." 

It  was  dusk  when  I  knocked  at  her  door ; 
and  O,  you  know  not,  who  have  never  been 
without  a  happy  home,  how  cheering  to  my 
heart  was  the  sound  of  her  kind  voice,  saying, 


78  CONSCIENCE. 

*  Walk  in."  She  was  not  very  quick  sighted, 
and  at  first  she  took  me  for  a  stranger,  till  I 
said,  "  It  is  I,  Miss  Howe ;  do  you  not  know 
me?"  She  turned  me  towards  the  light  that 
was  still  left  in  the  west,  and  in  a  second  ex- 
claimed, "Why,  it  is  little  Sue,  my  orphan  girl!" 
This  was  too  much  for  me.  She  put  her  arms 
round  me,  and  I  cried  again  like  a  child ;  but 
they  were  not  such  bitter  tears  as  I  had  shed 
before. 

"  What  brought  you  here  at  this  time  ?  "  said 
she,  "  and  what  is  the  matter  ?  But  come  take 
some  supper  first,  and  tell  me  afterwards ;  you 
look  very  tired."  She  'took  off  my  bonnet, 
and  made  me  sit  down  by  the  fire,  and  finished 
getting  her  tea  ready  which  she  was  preparing 
when  I  came  in,  and  made  me  drink  a  cup  of 
it  before  she  asked  another  question,  and  then 


CONSCIENCE.  79 

she  said,  u  Now,  Susan,  tell  me  what  is  the  mat- 
ter ;  something  has  happened,  I  know."  Then 
I  told  her  all  that  I  knew  myself,  for  why  my 
mistress  had  treated  me  so  I  could  not  tell. 

When  I  had  finished,  she  said,  "  Now,  Susan, 
you  will  find  the  advantage  of  a  good  charac- 
ter ;  if  I  did  not  believe  that  you  would  starve 
sooner  than  steal  or  tell  a  falsehood,  I  should 
be  afraid  about  you  now;  but  as  it  is,  I  do 
not  feel  uneasy,  for  I  believe  that  innocence 
always  prevails.  I  will  do  the  best  I  can  for 
you ;  I  shall  never  forget  the  penknife ;  so,  my 
child,  do  not  cry  any  more,  and  let  us  talk  of 
other  things ;  you  shall  have  half  of  my  bed 
and  whatever  I  have,  till  you  can  get  a  place 
to  suit  you ;  so,  dear,  do  not  be  downcast." 

0,  young  ladies,  you  must  know  what  it  is 
to  be  alone  in  the  world,  and  to  be  accused 


80  CONSCIENCE. 

wrongfully,  to  be  able  to  know  the  blessing  of 
kindness,  of  true  Christian  charity ;  it  seemed 
as  if  a  voice  had  said  to  my  troubled  heart, 
«  Peace,  be  still." 

Directly  after  breakfast  the  next  morning, 
Miss  Howe  left  me ;  she  said  she  was  going  to 
take  a  short  walk  before  school  began,  and 
should  soon  return.  She  looked  much  pleased 
when  she  came  back.  "  I  think,"  said  she,  "  I 
have  got  a  good  place  for  you.  It  is  at  the 
minister's ;  I  heard  they  wanted  some  one ;  I 
went  and  told  them  all  about  you,  and  they 

believe  you  are  innocent.  Mr.  A says  he 

remembers  you  in  Mrs.  Brown's  sick  chamber, 
but  his  wife  thinks  it  proper  to  go  and  see  the 
lady  you  have  been  living  with,  and  he  will 
come  and  see  you  this  evening." 

At  first  this  made  me  feel  very  badly ;  my 


CONSCIENCE.  81 

pride  and  my  anger  began  to  rise,  but  after  a 
while  I  conquered  them.  I  remembered  that 
no  one  could  take  away  my  good  conscience, 
and  I  could  not  think  that  I  should  be  forsaken, 

I  passed  the  day  very  comfortably,  and  even 
.  cheerfully ;  I  sometimes  forgot  that  I  had  any 
trouble.  Just  after  tea,  the  minister  came  in ; 
he  shook  hands  very  kindly  with  me,  but  he 
looked  very  serious,  and  fixed  his  eye  right  in 
my  face. 

O,  if  I  had  not  had  a  good  conscience  then, 
how  could  I  have  borne  that  look !  but  it 
seemed  to  me  as  if  I  could  feel  my  soul  com- 
ing up  into  my  face,  to  tell  its  own  innocence ; 
I  am  sure  my  looks  must  have  said,  I  am  notf" 
afraid,  for  I  have,  done  no  wrong. 

He  seemed  more  satisfied,  but  he  told  me 
that  he  had  been  to  Mrs. ,  where  I  had 


82  CONSCIENCE. 

lived,  and  she  had  told  him  that  the  evidence 
was  so  great  of  my  dishonesty  that  she  could 
not  doubt  it.  She  was  only  sorry  for  me. 

"  We  have  determined/'  said  he, "  to  try  you ; 
I  cannot  but  hope  that  you  are  what  you  seem, 
innocent ;  but  time  wall  show." 

I  had  felt  so  proud  of  my  character,  that  the 
idea  of  going  upon  trial  was  hard  for  me  to 
bear,  and  I  just  answered  that  I  would  go ;  I 
was  not  as  grateful  as  perhaps  I  ought  to  have 
been,  for  it  was  very  good  in  him  to  believe 
me  innocent,  in  spite  of  all  that  was  told  him 
against  me,  and  I  ought  to  have  thanked  him 
for  his  compassion  upon  such  a  forlorn  creature 
4s  I  was  then. 

Many  years  after,  I  found  out  what  I  had  been 
accused  of,  and  I  had  the  satisfaction  of  having 
my  innocence  acknowledged.  The  morning 


CONSCIENCE. 


83 


of  the  day  when  I  left  my  mistress,  she  had 
received  some  money  in  gold.  She  had  counted 
all  the  pieces  over  very  carefully,  and  was 
about  putting  them  away,  when  she  was  called 
suddenly  out  of  the  room  to  see  a  friend  at 
the  door  upon  important  business.  It  was 
cold,  and  she  called  me,  and  sent  me  into  the 
room  for  her  shawl,  where  I  never  even  saw 
the  gold. 

Her  brother,  who  had  come  with  her  friend, 
ran  into  the  room  to  warm  himself  while  they 
were  talking ;  he  saw  the  gold,  and,  to  tease 
his  sister,  put  one  of  the  eagles  into  his  pocket 
meaning  to  return  it  the  same  day. 

He  was  in  a  merchant's  counting  house,  and 
that  very  day  was  sent  out  of  town  upon  im- 
portant business,  at  only  a  minute's  warning. 
He  was  a  careless  fellow,  and  forgot  his  jest. 


84  CONSCIENCE. 

and  did  .not  learn  till  long  afterwards  its  sad 
consequences. 

My  mistress,  who  knew  that  no  one  had 
entered  the  room  but  her  brother  and  I,  and 
was  certain  of  her  accuracy  in  counting  the 
money,  was  convinced  that  I  was  a  thief.  She 
had  believed  some  ill-natured  things  the  other 
servant,  who  disliked  me,  had  said  against  me, 
and  had  become  ready  to  think  ill  of  me. 

When,  long  after,  this  lady  found  out  her 
injustice,  she  took  pains  to  declare  my  inno- 
cence and  to  ask  my  forgiveness.  But  ladies 
should  be  careful  not  to  accuse  poor  girls 
wrongfully,  and  not  to  leave  money  about. 
Terrible  ruin  may  follow  such  carelessness. 

After  I  had  lived  five  years  at  the  minister's, 
I  married  a  carpenter,  a  good  man,  whom  my 
friends  all  liked;  and,  though  I  was  almost 


CONSCIENCE.  85 

broken  hearted  at  leaving  my  happy  home,  I 
was  willing  to  give  up  all  for  him. 

And  then  new  troubles  and  trials  began.  My 
husband  was  not  very  successful  at  first,  but  I 
took  in  sewing,  and  we  got  along ;  we  loved 
each  other,  and  were  very  happy.  But  about 
a  year  and  a  half  after  our  marriage,  he  had  a 
fall  from  a  house,  and  injured  his  spine,  and 
after  a  sickness  of  three  months  he  died. 

At  the  time  he  was  brought  home  so  dread- 
fully hurt,  I  had  an  infant  six  weeks  old ;  I 
was  not  very  strong,  and  nursing  my  husband, 
and  the  care  of  my  infant,  and  my  distress  at 
his  death,  all  together,  were  too  much  for  me ; 
I  had  a  severe  illness.  The  doctor,  who  was  a 
very  kind  man,  took  care  of  me  and  sent  me  a 
nurse,  who  tended  me  through  the  worst  of 
my  illness,  and  did  not  leave  me  till  I  was  able 


86  CONSCIENCE. 

to  crawl  about,  and  help  myself  and  take  care 
of  my  poor  baby,  who  had  been  sadly  neg- 
lected ;  for  I  was  so  sick  that  I  required  all  the 
nurse's  attention;  and  now  came  my  hardest 
trial. 

One  night  in  December,  about  three  months 
after  my  husband's  death,  I  was  sitting  over 
my  little  fire  late  in  the  evening,  reading  my 
Bible,  in  hopes  that  those  words  of  comfort 
might  quiet  my  grief,  when  I  was  startled  by 
a  knock  at  the  door,  and  my  landlord  entered. 
He  lived  in  the  other  part  of  the  house  in 
which  he  rented  me  one  room ;  I  never  liked 
this  man,  and  at  first  I  felt  frightened,  but,  in 
a  minute  I  got  over  it. 

"  I  want  the  rent,"  he  said. 

"  But  you  know,"  I  said,  "  all  my  troubles, 

• 

and  that  my  poor  husband  left  nothing,  that  I 


CONSCIENCE.  87 

have  been  sick,  and  that  I  have  no  money ;  I 
shall  soon  be  able  to  earn  enough  to  pay  you, 
if  you  will  only  take  pity  on  me  and  wait  till  I 
can." 

"Well,"  said  he,  "one  good  turn  deserves 
another ;  perhaps  I'll  accommodate  you  if  you 
will  do  something  for  me." 

"If  it  is  any  thing  I  can  do,"  I  said,  "I  should 
be  glad  to  do  it,  and  very  thankful  to  you  for 
your  kindness  in  waiting  for  the  rent." 

He  went  into  the  other  room  and  brought 
in  a  large  bundle  of  laces  and  silks  and  other 
valuable  goods.  "I  want  you,"  said  he,  "to 
open  your  feather  bed  and  put  all  these  things 
into  it ;  they  are  rightly  mine,  but  I  have  my 
reasons  for  wishing  to  hide  them ;  some  goods 
have  been  stolen,  and  the  constables  are  after 
them,  and  if  they  were  to  see  these  they  might 


88  CONSCIENCE. 

seize  them  instead  of  those  they  are  searching 
for,  and  it  would  make  a  great  bother." 

I  had  no  doubt  they  were  stolen  goods,  and 
I  said  immediately  that  I  would  not  do  what 
he  wished  me  to,  but  as  civilly  as  I  could. 

"I  will,"  said  he,  "give  you  one  of  the  pieces 
of  cambric  for  your  trouble,  and  I  will  never 
ask  you  for  this  last  quarter's  rent ;  it  will  be  a 
great  favor  to  me,  for  they  know  that  you  are 
gick,  and  you  have  the  credit  of  being  very 
honest,  and  the  things  would  not  be  touched 
in  your  bed,  and  a  great  deal  of  trouble  would 
be  saved." 

"I  will,"  said  I,  "keep  the  credit  of  being 
honest ;  I  can  have  nothing  to  do  with  any  of 
these  things ;  your  conscience  can  best  tell 
whether  they  are  honestly  come  by." 

"Do  you  dare,"  said  he, "to  say  I  stole  them?" 


CONSCIENCE.  89 

in  such  a  loud  voice  as  to  wake  up  my  poor 
baby  and  to  make  me  start. 

"I  say  nothing,"  I  answered,  "but  that  it  is 
against  my  conscience  to  do  what  you  asked 
me  to  do." 

He  flew  into  a  passion,  and  said,  "  Conscience 
or  no  conscience,  you  do  as  I  ask  you  to,  or 
out  of  my  house  you  go  this  very  night." 

"Not  to-night,"  I  said. 

"  Yes,  to-night,"  he  answered.  "  Do  as  I  tell 
you,  and  you  have  no  rent  to  pay,  and  this 
piece  of  cambric  is  yours,  and  I  am  your  friend ; 
but  refuse  me,  and  out  of  the  house  you  go 
this  very  night ;  I  have  warned  you  long 
enough  to  pay  the  rent." 

I  told  him  that  I  could  not  do  what  was 
against  my  conscience  for  all  the  goods  of  this 
world,  and  that  if  he  was  so  cruel  as  to  turn 


90  CONSCIENCE. 

me  out  of  doors,  God  would  protect  me  and 
my  child.  "  But,"  said  I,  "  are  you  not  afraid  to 
do  such  a  wicked  thing,  it  is  so  dark  and  stormy, 
and  my  poor  baby  "  —  and  at  the  thought  that 
it  had  no  father  to  protect  it,  I  burst  into  tears, 
and  could  not  speak. 

He  was  silent,  and  seemed  to  feel  some  pity. 
Presently  he  said,  "Well,  you  may  stay  till 
daylight,  but  then  you  must  either  hide  these 
things  for  me,  or  you  must  march.  And  I  sup- 
pose it  will  not  worry  your  stomach  to  let  these 
things  stay  here  till  then."  So  he  put  the 
goods  on  a  chair,  and  laid  my  cloak  and.  bon- 
net upon  them. 

As  soon  as  he  was  gone,  and  his  door  shut,  I 
took  the  things  and  put  them  all  just  outside 
of  the  door.  I  was  too  much  troubled  and 
frightened  to  go  to  bed.  At  break  of  day  he 


CONSCIENCE.  91 

was  in  my  room  again.  "  Will  you  do  as  I  de- 
sire/' said  he, u  or  will  you  clear  out  ?  I'll  make 
you  pay  for  putting  these  things  on  the  dirty 
floor."  He  stopped  a  minute.  "  Come,  now, 
hide  these  things,  and  we  are  friends,  and  no 
trouble  about  your  rent,  and  all's  right,  you 
know." 

I'  thank  heaven  that  I  never  hesitated;  it 
did  not  seem  a  possible  thing  to  me  that  I 
should  assist  this  man  in  hiding  .  his  stolen 
goods.  I  am  certain  that  I  should  have  rather 
died. 

I  cannot  think  now  how  it  was  that  I  felt 
so  calm  and  so  strong.  I  collected  together  a 
small  bundle  of  clothes,  and  tried  to  wrap  up 
my  baby  so  that  the  cold  air  should  not  come 
to  her ;  it  seemed  as  if  I  could  hear  my  con- 
science say,  "  Be  not  afraid ; "  I  felt  as  if  I  was 
not  alone. 


92  CONSCIENCE. 

I  left  the  house,  determining  to  go  from  door 
to  door  till  I  found  some  one  to  take  me  in.  I 
was  refused  admittance  at  two  or  three ;  and 
then  I  remembered  a  poor  widow  who  had 
sent  me  broth  when  I  was  sick,  and  I  went  to 
her.  It  was  hardly  daylight  when  I  knocked ; 
there  was  a  driving  sleet,  but  my  heart  did  not 
fail  me,  my  God  did  not  forsake  me. 

It  was  some  time  before  the  good  woman 
came  down ;  I  had  taken  my  own  cloak  to  cover 
my  dear  baby,  and  I  was  wet  to  the  skin,  and 
had  such  an  ague  fit  from  cold  that  I  could 
hardly  speak  to  beg  shelter  for  heaven's  sake. 

She  took  me  in,  she  made  a  fire,  and  got  me 
something  hot  to  drink;  she  took  my  child, 
and  dried  and  wanned  it,  and  put  her  and  me 
to  bed. 

I  found  that  the  fever  I  had  just  been  cured 


CONSCIENCE.  93 

of  was  returning ;  the  cold  and  wet  was  too 
much  for  my  strength ;  I  thought  I  might  die, 
and  I  told  the  kind  widow  my  story,  and  the 
name  of  the  clergyman  with  whom  I  had  lived 
in  the  country,  and  begged  her  if  I  should 
grow  worse  to  send  for  him,  for  I  knew  he 
would  be  my  friend.  It  was  fortunate  I  did, 
for  I  grew  ill  very  fast;  I  had  a  high  fever, 
and  did  not  know  afterwards  what  I  said. 

She  sent  for  him.  He  came  and  told  her 
that  all  I  said  was  true ;  he  got  me  a  nurse 
.  and  physician,  and  gave  the  poor  widow  money 
for  me,  and  said  he  would  pay  all  my  expenses, 
and  thanked  her  as  much,  .she  told  me  after- 
wards, for  her  care  of  me  as  if  I  had  been  his 
own  child. 

After  the  fever  left  me,  a  severe  rheumatism 
settled  in  my  back,  which  I  had  strained  in 


94  CONSCIENCE. 

lifting  my  husband.  I  have  never  since  been 
able  to  stand  upright.  But  0,  this  was  noth- 
ing to  what  I  suffered  when  they  told  me,  when 
I  was  well  enough  to  bear  to  hear  it,  they  told 
me  that  my  baby,  my  little  daughter,  —  I  can- 
not bear  now  to  think  of  it,  —  she  took  cold 
too,  and  then  the  weaning  her,  and  all,  it  was 
too  much  for  the  little  thing ;  my  child  went 
to  God  who  gave  it. 

It  seemed  at  first  as  if '  I  should  die ;  then  I 
remembered  that  if  I  had  done  as  that  wicked 
man  wanted  me  to  do,  I  should  have  perhaps 
been  well,  my  baby  alive  and  well,  and  all  might 
have  seemed  prosperous ;  and  did  I  regret  that 
I  had  not  saved  her  life  and  my  own  health 
by  acting  against  my  conscience  ?  no,  not  for 
a  moment.  I  had  no  longer  a  kind  husband,  I 
had  lost  my  only  child  and  my  health ;  and  yet 


CONSCIENCE.  95 

the  light  of  God's  blessing  has  ever  been  in 
my  heart ;  when  I  think  of  all  my  trials,  and 
remember  that  I  have  kept  a  conscience  void 
of  offence,  0, 1  cannot  tell  you  what  peaceful 
thoughts  I  have,  what  a  strange  joy  I  some- 
times experience. 

My  kind  friend,  the  minister,  had  me  removed 
as  soon  as  I  was  well  enough  to  his  house,  and 
got  me  this  little  room  in  the  neighborhood, 
where  I  have  taken  in  sewing  work,  and  have 
ever  since  got  a  very  good  living. 

When  I  inquired  about  my  landlord,  I  found 
that  the  officers  came  that  morning,  found  the 
stolen  goods,  and  carried  him  to  prison.  My 
friend  went  to  see  him,  and  told  him  from  me 
that  as^soon  as  I  could  earn  the  money,  I  would 
pay  him  what  I  owed  him.  This  I  did  with  the 
very  first  money  I  received.  I  went  to  see 


96  CONSCIENCE. 

him,  and  took  the  rent  to  him  myself.  He  did 
not  know  me,  the  stoop  had  changed  me  so 
much. 

Certainly,  ladies,  she  added,  I  have  met  with 
what  are  called  great  misfortunes ;  I  have  lost 
all  that  I  loved  best  on  earth,  and  I  am  a  cripple 
for  life ;  but  I  still  rejoice  to  think  that  my 
mother's  prayer  has  been  heard  for  me ;  through 
the  blessing  of  God  I  have  been  saved  from  the 
evil  that  there  is 'in  the  world,  for  I  have  ever 
had  the  testimony  of  a  good  conscience. 

The  sun  was  setting  before  the  old  lady  had 
finished  her  story ;  its  slanting  beams  streamed 
in  through  the  narrow  window,  and  fell  on  the 
gray  locks  that  were  parted  neatly  on  her  fore- 
head, and  on  her  bright,  calm,  uplifted  eye,  and 
gave  a  glow  of  youthful  enthusiasm  and  celes- 
tial brightness  to  her  face. 


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